Quotes of the Day

We have a kid who is supposed to be starting ADHD meds at lunchtime. Apparently, the family has had the prescription for over a week, and haven't had it filled.

Exasperated Teacher (ET): Do you have the prescription??
Energetic Child (EC): uhhhhh.... yeah.....
ET: Well, did your mom take it to get filled?
EC: Yes. We took it to walgreens and they said it would take 9days.
ET [smiling now]: Oh really? That's funny. They usually can get it done in a day.
EC: Oh yeah. They said 9 hours. It should be ready today.

In this case, the difference between 9 days and 9 hours is muchmuch more than the actual time. It works kind of like dog years. The teacher has aged approximately 9years for the 9days gone without medicine. On a personal note, I'm not keen on medicating every rambunctious child that walks in the door. I can say with certainty that some kids really benefit from the added help... some kids forget their meds and actually behave BETTER. Really, who knows? I certainly haven't found any hard and fast rules related to kids and medication.

Well, okay. One Rule: Do not accidentally drop a child's medicine in the drinking fountain drain. You will not get it back, and will have to fill out an embarrassing waste report. ie: 1 dose of medication accidentally wasted into drinking fountain. Witnessed by Guffawing/Cackling/Teasing-Favorite-Secretary.

Another quote:

Little girl with pinpoint scratch to tip of finger (on why she wants me to call her dad): "Well, my dad said that sometimes, when I get hurt really bad, and it's really deep, he um, he wants me to call him so that it doesn't get infected. You know, cause it's really deep. And I got hurt really bad. And I fell."

Love it.

Eau De First-Grader

There's a little boy here who's visits to the nurse were increasing in both frequency and duration. I began to suspect a tough case of CON (crush on nurse) syndrome when he came in one morning, chest puffed out, leg dragging behind. According to him he had been playing football outside and made a miraculous run and tackle- thereby establishing himself as Hero of the Playground (for that recess at least). On completion of this amazing stunt, he fell and hurt his knee. Of course, by the time he was done telling me all this he's bouncing around and obviously not injured. Once diagnosed with CON, the rest of a child's visits are somewhat suspect.

 

Later that day, he came in with a rip in the seat of his pants. I made him a patch out of tape and explained how to stick it to the inside so that he could make it home a half hour later without flashing his drawers at his classmates. 

In retrospect, he spent WAAYYY too long in there (do NOT have a dirty mind- it's not what you think...geez). He comes back into my office and stands real close to me. I'm immediately bowled over by the "scent" he's emitting. He smells like a cheap wh*** in an English rosegarden.

 

Me: Whoa. Wha? *cough* Whaaaat is that smell??!

Pepe Le Pew: [shrug] It's perfume.

Me: Umm, men's perfume or ladies perfume?

Pepe: Men's. I put it on this morning.

Me: [Wondering how the heck I had missed this] Just so you know, girls like it better when boys don't wear perfume. If you DO use it, you've got to use muuuch less. Like, barely any.

Pepe thinks about it for a moment, says okay, and wanders back to class. He's no doubt plotting his next assault to my senses, and my only goal is to prevent that from occurring.

 

Well, I then remembered that there is body spray in the staff bathroom (the one I had sent him into). I run in there and see that the lid to the bottle is off and the bottle is almost empty. Mystery solved. I went along with my day until I hear someone cursing quietly in the same bathroom. I go to see and our poor librarian is on her knees picking up about a million of those little blue air-freshener beads. Strike two.

 

The conversation was short (due to the lovely odor) and to the point. Pepe Le Pew knows now not to mix floral scents with household scents. He also knows (very clearly) that alas, we are not to be. Poor kid was devastated. I think it took him a whole 3minutes to recover.

Perspective: He has it.

One of the kindergarten associates (classroom assistants) was telling the whole class about how the Police are good, that they are here to keep us safe, and how when you need help, you can call them. A little boy's hand shoots up in the back. "Mrs. Garcia, you're wrong. The police are NOT good. One time my dad and the police were in a race, and he beat them. The police were mad that my dad was faster, so they took him out of the car and put things on his hands, and took him away cause they lost."

How's that for spin?

Happy Thanksgiving!

My laziness has paid off. I've decided to keep Mr. Bones around for future holidays. Saves me time in not having to totally change my board for each holiday, with the added satisfaction of confusing most of my kids... and coworkers.

Kid: hey! You left your halloween skeleton up!
Me: yep.
Kid: ... he's wearing a hat! [tilts head to the side like a confounded puppy]
Me: uh, YEAH! He's a Pilgrim. Pilgrims wear hats. Everybody knows that pilgrims wear hats! What are they teaching you in class?!
Kid: o_0

Why is this funny? IS this funny? I may not know the answer to these questions, but I do know this:

Santa Bones is coming to town!

At least we know he's a boy...

This is one of those things we try to let slide. But ever since this was pointed out to me by my favorite secretary (all she had to say was, "watch for the special turkey"), I can't walk by without noticing his big pink marshmallows.

Superman

My favorite 4th grader, self-nicknamed Superman, has a new topic of conversation for every visit. This is made even more impressive by the huge number of visits he makes weekly. I usually see him twice a day; once in the morning and again after lunch.

He may turn mundane into fascinating:

Superman [SM]: you have freckles.
Me: do not.
Superman: yes. I see them.
(This continues for a few minutes with me insisting that he's crazy and I do NOT have freckles. )
He then takes a completely serious face and says,"it's okay. You shouldn't be ashamed. Freckles aren't embarrassing. "
At this point we're both laughing. He then stops abruptly, looks me dead in the eye and says, "this is not a laughing matter." He turns on his heel and walks right out the door.

He may discuss his current illness:

SM: Maaaannnnn. My voice sounds really weird. Can you hear it? It sounds so weeeiiiiiirrrrrddd... like when you're holding a walkie talkie? And the batteries are dead? And you know it makes that sound? That buzzing sound? Like static?

The above was then followed by a fairly accurate imitation of "walkie talkie static" that he managed to hold for approximately 14minutes. I don't know. Maybe only a few seconds but it was one of those "need more coffee" days.

He may also ask me for whatever I happen to be eating. Almost invariably, it's some form of chocolate. This continued up til the day he wanted my tea.

SM: Duuuude, what are you drinking? Is that hot chocolate? I want some hot chocolate. Can I have some?

Me: It's tea. It's delicious, and no, you can't have some. Here. Smell (this is where I went wrong).

SM: [taking a whiff and scrunching his nose up] That smells like racoon poop!

Me: [asking the only obvious question at this point] How the heck do you know what raccoon poop smells like? Do you keep some in your pocket?!

Our conversations are almost always a different topic, and range in length from a simple few-word exchange to more than 5minutes of one-upping, teasing, or totally random statements strung together in a pseudo-coherent fashion. Regardless, I can say that he always gets me thinking. Really, what DOES raccoon poop smell like?

Common Ailments Translated

They say: I feel like a shark is biting me in the stomach
Translation: I'm hungry. I will eat all your backup teddy grahams, then stand up and shake all the crumbs onto the floor. That's how I roll.

They say: Someone call my grandma!! I think THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!!!
Translation: I was running outside and collided with the large, hard skull of the student in front of me. There is a small drop of blood of unknown origin on this tissue. I think I can smell my own brain, but really, it's a smear of chili on my shirt from lunch. Chili is my favorite lunch. What are we having for lunch tomorrow?

They say: [while blubbering. snot bubbles have formed and are growing dangerously close to the upper lip] THEREWASTHISBOY! ANDHEWASCHASINGMEANDMYFRIENDTRIEDTOHELPMEBUTHEPUSHEDMEANDIFELL!!!!
Translation: There was this boy. I was chasing him and he turned around and pushed me and I fell.

More to come as I navigate this new and confounding language.

#1

We have a little boy I'll dub Number One, or NO for short. This is fitting, as he is extremely difficult some days. He also happens to be painfully cute- I'm starting to notice this trend. His eyes twinkle and curve into little half-moons when he grins. I won't even start on his dimples.

His verbal skills are somewhat lacking, and we consider it a win if he learns a new [swear] word at home and manages to string it into a sentence. F-you b!tch? Good job NO!! But really, for some reason this adds to his charm. The cherry on the cake is how, when he decides not to go with a verbal response, he'll look down, brow furrowed intensely, and decide which finger to flip you off with. He usually goes with an index finger, and will look at you with his mean little half-moon twinkle eyes. You're.... number.... ONE! At least, that's what we've decided he means.

This kid is not to be messed with.

Sneaky Poo

Apparently this is an existing medical condition. But really, its the illustrations that do it for me. I believe this may actually be the basis for Mr Hanky the Christmas Poo. Same premise: sneaky poo is a naughty poo that surprises the kid and gets him in trouble by making big messes. Should I go on?

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Annndd... when my eyes are closed.

A good portion of the school year is spent screening the kids for various problems. We check vision, hearing, height/weight, and dental as well as look for scoliosis, skin problems and head lice. I was checking the vision of a 1st grader and asked him the standard question, "Do you have any problems reading what's up on the board?"

His reply: "Only when someone's head is in the way."

Well played, Kid. Well played.

Kiss the Cook

This conversation was repeated to me by a first grade teacher. A little background: The southeast NM state fair was in town and was the site for one of the first field trips of the year. The livestock show is one of the bigger draws, and the first graders were touring the building.

Kid: Pee-YEW! These cows smell SO bad.
Ms Bliss: Well, they sure smell good when they're outside grilling... (sly smile)
Kid: (making a "duh" face) Ms. Bliss, Cows can't cook!

Romeo

The first three words of this post is actual documentation- a few minutes later I was still smiling at this kid and couldn't resist getting our conversation recorded for posterity.

Pt enters office, limping dramatically on L leg. Sts, "I broke my leg!" When asked to see, he pulls up pant leg, swings leg onto my knee, and points to a small scuff on his calf.

On a normal day, I see up to a dozen of these life-threatening injuries. I have a large box in my office containing 5000 bandaids for this purpose. When busy, I sometimes will just put a bandaid on these little "boo-boos" without much thought or conversation. Then there are the days that Nurse Sara needed another cup of coffee, or another hour of sleep. On those days, sympathy runs a little short. I'll add that they happen rarely, and are usually interrupted by a cute kid with a big smile (or a big pout and a couple alligator tears).

So, back to my little Romeo. I'll say now that there are those truly great days that give me the energy and patience to have a little fun with these kids.

At this point, I've diagnosed him with Acute Needs Attention Disorder [ANAD]. I proceed to heal him using witchcraft, sawing it off with a plastic spoon, blowing it up with a pretend bomb, counting to 100, and singing the "my leg is better" song. Before I'm halfway through my bag of tricks, he's snorting and laughing uncontrollably, dimples going full force. Romeo is shutting down my "healing" techniques one after another, saying, "NO! It didn't work! Oh no!!" All the while balancing precariously on one foot.

You see why I can't help but tease these kids.

Anyway, by the time Romeo left he was in possession of one "healed" leg, one bandaid, and a sticker with a crown on it. My little king lives to fight another day.